All of Morrowind seemed to be silent the day Vivec emerged from the Clockword City with the bodies of his fellow Tribunes.

The Living God walked in a dignified stride in front of the few Buoyant Armigers who had accompanied hir. Lady Almalexia and Lord Sotha Sil draped lifeless over the arms of the two uncomfortable mer stationed behind Vivec. Holding the corpse of your deity was not ideal to the soldiers, but they had little choice but obey when Vivec told them to carry them. Crowds of nobles and peasants alike parted to allow the procession to pass through on their way to pyre where the Tribunes would be honorably cremated. Young children hid behind legs, while their mothers stared wide-eyed. Men looked to the ground with lumps in their throat as older, thoroughly religious women quietly wailed into the arms of their sons. 

The Dunmer were terrified. The Blight, though over, still weighed heavy on their souls. When the news that not one, but two of their gods had perished, chaos ensued. The Great Houses, Indoril especially, panicked. What did this mean? House Dunmer culture was rooted in their faith, how would this affect politics? Day to day life? Would the citizens turn their back on the Temple? Morrowind would surely perish without the Tribunes protection and wisdom. 

Their Lord Vivec’s expression was unreadable as ze took his god-siblings and placed them on the pyre. Deep inside hir, ze felt hir supposedly lost mortality flare in anger at the sight of the Nerevarine solemnly standing with her head bowed. But hir composure was kept as ze turned to face the fearful crowd. Hir speech was swift and short, unlike the usual beguiling words his people expected from hir. An uncomfortable grief had made itself home in hir, now was not the time to use metaphors and a magical tongue to confuse and reassure hir subjects. Ze allowed the Nerevarine to tell the story of the Tribunes’ demise- how a powerful sorceress had murdered the Clockwork God and released his mechanisms into Almalexia’s beloved city to lure her in and drive a sword through her heart. Ignoring the people’s bewildered expressions(how had one woman defeated two gods?), Vivec sent a subtle nod of thanks to the Nerevarine for her deception, for ze knew her words were fabricated without having been told. “Lady Almalexia and Lord Sotha Sil were once heroes, let them be remembered as such,” the Hortator would later tell hir. The irony of those words being spoken by Nerevar-reborn was not lost on hir.

Vivec saw how hir subjects looked towards hir for guidance. The Nerevarine was their hero of legend, and her presence was of great significance, but Vivec was their God. Ze was meant to be their guidance in trying times, to lead them to the next great chapter of Morrowind’s story. Ze had been there through terrible wars and occupations. Hir sharp tongue blessed them with laughter and hope and hir riddles gave them motivation to love and care for their homeland more than any race on Tamriel (even at the expense of others). Today, ze offered them nothing.

The Living God was weary, and hir weariness was continuing to grow into exhaustion. Divine power being drained out of you like a cosmic vacuum was not a pleasant nor an easy experience. Hir empire, once greater than the warriors of Yokuda, was dying. Hir Divine Brother and Sister (who he once called his friends, long ago) had fallen. Everything they’d built from the ashes of a troubled land had perished. 

And ze’d known the day would come. Ze was a god, after all. Ze knew everything and nothing all at once. What ze didn’t know was the grief that would follow. The aching sensation of a long forgotten feeling, deep in hir body, squeezing hir lungs and pounding on hir stomach. What was ze meant to do now? How could ze console an entire province, keep an entire race stable when ze can’t even predict hir own reaction to an event ze’d already foreseen? 

The Nerevarine followed hir with a watchful eye as ze retreated from the ceremony prematurely, dismissing the Armigers who attempted to follow hir. The crowd of Dunmer now hardly noticed hir absence in their mourning. She felt what ze was feeling, to an extent. Someone inside of her, someone she didn’t know but was a part of her, felt the same sadness; the same longing for a different time. A happier time. 

The Great Temple meant to house the remains of Mother Morrowind and Clockwork God took four months to build, from Rain’s Hand to Last Seed. Located in the heart of Necrom, it was a great temple of lava rock and stone, crafted by the finest materials Morrowind had to offer, guarded by the fiercest Dunmeri warriors. The magister’s of House Telvanni assisted in the construction, as the magic used to build this holy place could only be done by those adept in ancient Dunmeri practices, of course. House Indoril nobles bickered over schematics and design, and even House Hlaalu offered their finest craftsmen for the construction. All the while, Vivec stayed holed in hir chambers for most of this time, only accepting the occasional pilgrim. Ze never dared visit the temporary temple the Tribune’s ashes were being held during the construction. Did ze even dare visit the Great Temple after it’s construction?

Ze did. After a long while, of laying in piles of crumpled up parchment with failed poetry, ze made the trek to Necrom to visit hir friends. The temple was grandeur, far from hir own humble beginnings. The inside was littered with candles and offerings of all sorts; flowers and fruit and clockwork gears and unlit incense. Large, intricate statues of the ALMSIVI reached the ceiling. In the center sat the ash pit of Almalexia, Mother Morrowind, the heart of the Dunmer. To the left, Sotha Sil, and to the right, at Vivec’s request, an empty ashpit, meant for hir. 

“How sad of a sight this is, old friend,” Vivec spoke to Sotha Sil as if he were there, pouring a part of hir bottle of flin in the ash and settling hirself on the stone floor. “We’d spoken of this moment. What the other would have wanted of the temple. You, Ayem,” A memory of a smile ghosted across hir face and ze turned to Almalexia’s statue. “What a handful you are. You sent the Houses in circles trying their best to fulfill your wishes. But you deserve nothing less, my queen.” 

Silence, again. Such a quiet and cold room for them to rest in. Their souls were too bright for this. 

“We spoke of it often,” Ze continued. “However, we never considered that one, but not three, that two, but not all of us would go. What else am I to do now? How am I to look over our people without the other halves of me? I am unwhole.”

Vivec sighed. A sound that carried through the whole temple. A mouse in the corner scurried into its hide. 

“They still love us, they still follow our teachings, but how long will that last? Time changes culture and tradition quickly and you are not here to help me guide it,” Ze whispered the next part quietly. “How long will Ilast?”

Somewhere, in a land unknown by anyone but herself, the Nerevarine woke with a start. An unbearable sadness settled through her and tears welled in her eyes. 

“There is nothing left for me in Morrowind, my dearest friends. I must leave.”

Vivec was standing now, slowly making hir way to the temple door. Hir legs ached and hir eyes were sunken. Ze was sickly. 

“Don’t be mistaken, this is not the end of us. We will not die out to history.”

The Nerevarine held her head in her hands, breathing harsh and fast. 

“The ending of the words is stillALMSIVI.”

That’s my TES child - dunmer from house Hlaalu! I call him Fechner. He’s in contradiction with Hlaalu’s doctrine, so he left the house as soon as possible, still being traced by his father, who wants his child to have everything he needs.

Fechner is good at staying away from his past, but ironically he has no money to by new armor, so he has to wear the one with Hlaalu symbol on it.

He’s a Tribunal adherer who is fond of Almalexia. Fechner himself is a healer and her dogma of being merciful is his life’s motto.

Later he experienced a faith crisis when Almalexia betrayed Tribunal.

stitched myself a bookmark.. i designed it myself from the hlaalu banner and i think i might have a go at some other morrowind-based designs

link to chart in case you’re interested :)

Short Fic: Ma’zurah tries to get a promotion in House Hlaalu. Rated M. Content warning for sexual harassment and trans/intersexphobia.

—

“First, I want to see who I’m dealing with. Show Uncle Crassius what you have to offer. Don’t be shy!”

Ma’zurah stared horrified at the Imperial man in front of her. He couldn’t possibly be serious… right? She glanced behind her at the Dunmer loitering in the doorway.

The Dunmer sidled up behind her. “Does he mean…”

Julan’s whisper trailed off as Ma’zurah flapped a hand at him to get him to shut up.

“Come on, dumpling, don’t be shy,” the Imperial encouraged with a smile that Ma’zurah suspected was supposed to be charming, but only came across as creepy. “Just do this one little favor for Uncle Crassius.”

Ma’zurah’s whiskers twitched. “Must Ma’zurah?”

The Imperial shrugged. “Well of course you don’t have to, sweetie, but if you want my sponsorship…”

Ma’zurah suppressed a grimace. The man didn’t need to finish the sentence. She knew he was likely her only chance for sponsorship in House Hlaalu. Without his backing, she would be unable to obtain any more work, and her rising career in House Hlaalu would stall.

She put on her best winning smile. “One moment!”

She backed out into the hall before the Imperial had time to respond, pulling the Dunmer after her.

“Look, just say the word, and I’ll punch him,” Julan muttered as they walked up to the Redguard and the Bosmer waiting in the next room. “Unless you want that honor?”

Ma’zurah shook her head and gestured all three of them out of earshot of the open doorway.

“How did it go?” asked Jasmine.

“I think he wants her to take her clothes off,” Julan explained. He balled his fists. “I mean it, just say the word.”

“The pig!” Constance’s voice was shrill, and Ma’zurah hurriedly shushed the indignant Bosmer.

Jasmine gave Ma’zurah a penetrating look. “What are you going to do?”

It wasn’t that Ma'zurah cared overmuch about her modesty. No, given the opportunity, she wore clothes with as many sheer panels as socially acceptable to show off her black and white stripes. It thrilled her that she could so easily break the taboo of displaying torso fur outside of Elsweyr with so little comment, or even the knowledge of the oblivious people around her.

But the Imperial’s smug entitlement, his patronizing attitude, and blatant objectification galled her. He probably thought he could get away with whatever he liked because Ma’zurah was Khajiit. And in Morrowind, he would be right. The Ordinators wouldn’t care. The House guard wouldn’t care. The average Dunmer on the street wouldn’t even care. The only people who really cared about her wellbeing in all of Morrowind were the three standing next to her.

She looked at them. Two outlander women and an Ashlander. Great. Not an ideal defense against a Councillor from House Hlaalu. The man could probably do what he wanted with impunity even if she had been Dunmer.

The Imperial’s reaction if she did strip for him didn’t even bear thinking about. Her previous experiences with Imperial men warned her that it was generally dangerous to reveal her atypical body configuration to people who weren’t Khajiit. They either reacted with disgust, sometimes violently, or they saw her as an exotic encounter. Ma’zurah suspected that Curio was likely to be the latter, but still, the potential was there. Ma’zurah’s first sexual experience after leaving Elsweyr flashed through her mind. The Imperial boy had been nice, eager–that is, until she had stripped for him and his eagerness turned to anger, and Ma’zurah’s arousal had turned into humiliation and fear. She was Khajiit and clever and knew the use of invisibility spells, but the experience had left an impression.

“You’re not seriously considering…?”

Ma’zurah’s focus snapped back to the present and she glared at Julan. She was in an awkward position. She had joined House Hlaalu as a haven against the xenophobic sentiments of the native Dunmer only to discover that their acceptance of the Empire was more complex than she had been led to believe. House Hlaalu had not turned out to be the open-minded, cosmopolitan organization with readily available work for anyone of any background that she had hoped it would be. They merely appeased the Empire, and still exploited the Empire’s grudging tolerance of slavery. She had turned to the Thieves Guild to supplement her income, but she had hoped that if she could just prove herself worthy, just gain enough prestige, enough recognition, she could rise above it all. She might even be able to gain enough influence to change things for the better.

And here was this infuriating Crassius Curio, this lecher, this… Imperial, standing in the way of her ambitions. What was he even doing in a Dunmer Great House? Of course, if she thought about it, she knew. This was more appeasement of the Empire. They had put the fool in power to exploit him as a symbol of their cooperation with the Empire, or because he had powerful connections, or something along those lines. It didn’t matter why, it merely mattered that he had a great deal of power, and she could either take his sponsorship and everything that entailed, or she could leave.

She didn’t want to leave. She had done so much to try to prove herself. She had worked so hard with the scraps they had given her. She didn’t want it to have been a wasted effort. She considered her options again, mentally reviewing the information Hibasi had given her. The two female Dunmer councillors were in the pocket of the Camonna Tong. They would be no help. Approaching them at all might even be dangerous. The Nord councillor was supposed to be an even greater fool than this Curio man, and by all reports, lived up to the name of Half-Troll. No one could even find the last councillor, and with the Morag Tong after him, he would likely be a short lived sponsor even if he did accept her. Curio was the only viable option. Without sponsorship, she couldn’t advance, without advancement, nobody took her seriously. If nobody took her seriously she didn’t have a future in House Hlaalu.

Strip, or leave? Strip, or leave? Her friends were giving her worried looks. The decision was harder than it should have been. Expose herself to humiliation, further harassment, and potential violence, or abandon her ambitions in the House? The Mages Guild could only give her so much social influence in this land of Telvanni mages and distrustful natives. House Hlaalu had so much more to offer, but if this was the price…

“Ma’zurah?” Constance’s voice sounded worried.

Ma’zurah sighed. “Come on. We are leaving.”